Walk with me, if you please,
in the graveyard that was once
our Eden.
Every flower seems to perk at your touch,
our rose bursting into crimson bloom.
It was easy letting you walk from Eden,
my heart was ready,
the Goodbyes were prepared --
It was the realization at startled me:
this blossom is nothing more than a ****
through the eyes of the next person I invite.
Never again will I plant another flower like that,
not exactly,
not with your touch and your embrace.
No one will ever see the beauty that we see,
forever will the rose be something only you and I will share.
More and more flowers will be planted,
more and more will shrivel into barren hips,
and maybe one day I'll find someone to stop the infestation.
Until then, I cherish the beautiful roses,
the ones planted in laughter and love,
not the ones thrown to the earth with rage and sorrow.
You will not be forgotten,
the rose will not allow it.
I know you will not want to walk with me,
but know that the flowers will remain
just as your good memory hovers above the roses.